This Isn’t a Poem
August 21, 2013 § 4 Comments
This isn’t a poem, my thoughts just agree with ink.
This isn’t a poem, I just feel the way I think.
Though my skin is thicker than the pain I bring,
I’ve been broken, played and thrown like a thing.
Would you find it possible to shut your demons in me?
They tear me up and burn me down, that horrifying army.
I drown in the devouring flesh of my pale arms.
I listen to the sound of the slaves time harms;
They howl like horny wolves on a lonely night,
They sweat like mirrors under the bitch’s sight.
This isn’t a poem, whisky just comes out of me through rhymes.
This isn’t a poem, my mind just can’t keep what it finds.